Page 21 of Sold Bullied Mate

Every alpha in that room gritted their teeth, staring straight ahead. It was a faux pas for omegas to come to school in their heat. Apparently, Kira didn’t understand what was happening to her. Nobody had taught her.

Finally, our teacher, a beta, noticing the way we were all acting, turned and snapped at Kira, her face twisted in disgust.

“For heaven’s sake, Kira,” she’d said, only a drop of pity in her tone. “Go to thenurse.”

If I’m honest with myself, I’d known she was my mate long before that. I was just afraid to put a name to it, to identify it within myself. I had no problem being with girls in high school, but as time wore on, I found it harder and harder to be interested in them.

They were always too skinny, too blonde, had a scent that was sharp and pungent to my nose.

My body yearned for someone softer, someone with curls and round cheeks. A body to sink into fully, hips I could palm, an ass I could squeeze.

Without warning, my grandfather’s voice filters into my memories, reminding me of the guiding force in my life back then.

“It isourduty to ensure there’s no more bloodshed, that this pack will not have to experience another pointless power vacuum. You must convince all the members of this pack that you’re the best candidate for alpha leader, that there’s no reason to fight over it. You can serve them well. We’ll ensure you can.”

My training was physical, of course. Learning to fight, shift mid-air, leverage my advantages in both my wolf and physical form. But it was also mental, learning about the history of the pack, understanding the dynamics of leadership. Grandpa had me in classes every weekend, learning with other mid-tier managers.

Now, I understand bookkeeping, inventory management. Being the alpha leader of a pack is a lot about relationships, good leadership. But it’s also about resource management. Making sure the shifters under my care have food and shelter. That they have no reason to question my choices.

I turn the corner and come to a stop, catching my breath as I look out over the valley, the vast swath of land that holds our western border, the reaches between our territory and the Grayhides’. My eyes follow the snaking path of the road that Kira and I took on the way in, and I snag on the exact hazy spot in the distance that our boundary lies.

With my sharp eyesight, I can also make out the warriors out there, patrolling just inside the border, making sure nobody goes in or out. I assigned more of them after returning from Grayhide territory with Kira, in case I was recognized or followed.

So far, there’s no risk to our boundaries. Just the problem of finding more Amanzite.

As I turn around and head back toward the house, my thoughts shift back from the Amanzite problem to the issue that’s much more in my face—Kira, in my house, likely asleep by now. A single door between me and her, and the growing urge inside me to take her the way a mate should.

But I know that even with the dinner she’s made me tonight, I have a lot to make up for. Starting in high school withthe bullying, cresting with the day my grandfather died and I rejected her publicly. Including even the night I got her from the market, the tone I used. It might have been necessary, but it still hurt her.

I never want to hurt her again. And I know I need to try and repair things before I approach the topic of our mating bond. The mating bond that I increasingly want to strengthen, nurture. Cherish.

Eventually, I’ll present this to her. Maybe she’ll reject me in turn—she would have every right to—but I’m going to do this right.

Show her that I’m not the person I used to be. That I’m deserving of her now, and that I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that.

Chapter 14 - Kira

“Kira,” Dorian says, his breath ragged with want, his breath fanning over my cheeks. When I look up at him, I can feel the heat of his body, the press of him against my hips through our clothing.

The next three words make my core pool with heat, throbbing for him.

“I need you,” he rasps, dropping his forehead so it rests against mine. It’s the first time our skin has touched, no barrier between us, and the shock of it through my body is nearly enough to push me over the edge, to make me orgasm right then and there.

“Kira.”

This time, his voice is less sultry, cleaner, and pulled back. I blink up at him, but now he’s across the room, arms crossed. There’s a knocking sound, and he says, “Good morning.”

I sit up, breathing hard and looking around. Once again, there’s the shock of not knowing where I am, until I remember—Dorian’s house. In his guest room. The room is quiet, the windows open to let in a cool, early morning breeze. Just outside the window, little flowers bloom in the planter box, and sheer white curtains shimmer in the gilded light.

My entire body shakes as I rise from the bed, my socked feet hitting the wooden floor and sending a shock through me. That dream feltsoreal, and I can tell I’m wet from it. For some reason, that reality makes my cheeks warm, a rush of embarrassment flushing my chest.

Ridiculous. To be having sex dreams about a man who publicly rejected me years ago, and has made no indication that he wants me now.

But, if I’m being honest with myself, this is not the first sex dream I’ve had about Dorian Fields. This happens frequently, and much more so every three months, when my heat comes. In fact, a dream about Dorian is a solid indicator that I only have a few days before it sets in completely.

The dreams used to be of us in high school—that was the last I knew of him. But the Dorian in my dream last night was the man he is now, his thick biceps, the stubble over his jaw and neck, the new, dark look in his eyes.

Shuffling across the floor, I cross to the door and crack it open, peering out.

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